


Fragments of a Mirror

by blakefancier



Category: Drake's Venture (1980)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-12
Updated: 2010-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-13 15:46:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakefancier/pseuds/blakefancier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Memories of the past haunt Thomas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fragments of a Mirror

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alinewrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alinewrites/gifts).



Thomas stood on the beach, staring out over the water, toes digging into the sand, the wind whipping his hair into his face. He was freezing his arse off and he knew that he should put his boots back on.

For a moment, Thomas wished he had his favorite blue cloak with him. Then he remembered that five hundred years separated him from that cloak. He shivered at the thought and walked back to his boots.

It must have been colder in July than December, way back then. It must have been, but he didn't remember. He pulled on his socks, then boots, tying them with a double knot he learned somewhere.

Sand stung his eyes and left his mouth gritty; he spat.

*****

Thomas lies on the camp bed, staring up at the ceiling of the tent, his body rigid with fury, his hands clenched into fists at his side. He does not move, not even when Francis enters.

"Is it done? Is it over?" His voice is too harsh, he does not sound like himself, and Francis turns to him with a surprised look.

"Yes, yes, it's done. All that is left is to carry away the bodies."

Thomas's mouth fills with bile and he closes his eyes.

"It's cleaner at sea," Francis says, suddenly, and his words are startling enough for Thomas to open his eyes. "The water carries away the blood and bodies. The smell. You'll see, Thomas. I'll show you."

"Will you?" His throat is gritty and dry.

"Aye." Francis sits next to him and touches his face.

"Then show me," he spits angrily.

Francis leans over and Thomas closes his eyes again.

*****

The sand crunched under his boots as he walked towards the parking lot. He thought about his wife Elizabeth, his ex-wife, and how he'd loved her. But she could never understand his fascination with the past. She couldn't understand how he was forever looking for that one thing that was always out of his grasp.

He had tried, oh, how he'd tried. But in the end, he hadn't been a good husband. How could he when his dreams were filled with a red-haired pirate with a calculating smile?

*****

Thomas loves to hear her laugh, warm and lyrical, it lifts his spirits. But she is fragile and he knows that if he is not careful, he will break her. So, he is gentle. He does nothing that will bruise her pale skin, that will mar her delicate beauty.

*****

He opened the door to his car and slipped into his seat. He turned the key, closed his eyes, and waited for the air blowing from the vents to heat.

All his memories were ghosts; scenes from a history that should have been forgotten. Only he never forgot them. He remembered everything as if it were seared into his flesh.

Thomas remembered that first night with Francis, it blazed up at him, making his body burn. He gasped and palmed his erection through his jeans.

 _Francis is not gentle with him. He clamps down on Thomas's arms, bites his lip, and kisses him so hard that it hurts._  
.  
Thomas kneaded his crotch, trying not to squirm; he didn't want the tourists roaming the parking lot to notice that he was wanking in his car.

 _Francis is a big man and when they fuck, it hurts. It hurts and they're loud, so loud that surely someone will hear them._

It hurt, but it always hurt with Francis.

 _But that doesn't matter. What matters is that he needs it. He comes on Francis's cock, like a common whore, pleading and crying out his name._

Thomas felt his balls tighten. He bit his lip and bucked his hips as he came. His breathing was harsh to his ears and he grimaced at the wet stickiness in his jeans.

Francis, God, Francis hurt. That's why, like a coward, he had left and tried to forget.

*****

It is enough to make him forget Ireland and what transpired there. All that transpired there.

He forgets everything but the soft blush of her cheeks when he brings her roses, her warm protests when he calls her beautiful.

He remembers the happiness that looks like triumph in her eyes when she tells him that she is with child.

When he buries her, buries them, he wants to forget even that.

*****

Thomas clenched his hands around the steering wheel. He didn't know why he was here, what he was hoping to find, another child, dead and buried, another marriage that ended too soon?

No, no, that was a lie. He knew exactly what he was hoping to find: a red-haired man with callused hands and callous eyes.

For a second, he considered stepping on the accelerator and driving into the ocean. It was cleaner there, that's what Francis had said, the water carried away the bodies.

And what had been Thomas's damning response? Show me. Show me, show me, show me.

Francis does. Francis did.

Of course, Francis lied. He was the biggest liar Thomas had ever known. Second only to himself.

A sob caught in his throat and he covered his mouth with his hand. There was no salvation here. Why did he think there would be, here in the place he died? His hand shook as he turned off the ignition, and then he leaned his head back.

He cried.

*****

When they come for him, he is calm. He has never been so calm, not since he was a child. He follows his guards out. He smiles and he jokes and when he looks at Francis, he remembers the taste of him, the feel of their bodies pressed against one another.

No, no, there is no sin allowed in these last moments. His heart is pure, his soul is pure. He will not think of it again.

Only he does, in that last moment before the ax touches his neck. He thinks, I should have kissed you one last time, I should have felt your smile against my mouth.

*****.

Thomas wiped his eyes against the sleeve of his sweater and sniffled. He was crazy, that was the only explanation for this, for all of this. If only he could go back to London and forget. He wished he could go back to his life as a barrister, a beautiful wife on his arm, a child on the way.

But he couldn't.

His job was gone, his wife was gone, his child… was gone. All that was left was this. Maybe it wasn't time yet. He had to be patient. Francis would find him. Francis always found him.


End file.
